


All extremes of feeling are allied with madness

by Gyakugire



Category: Death Note
Genre: Depression, M/M, Self Harm, idk will probably add more later, siren!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-15 20:24:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7237210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyakugire/pseuds/Gyakugire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>" Matt shakes his head. “No,” he says, but the adrenaline in the lack of his throat says otherwise. He’s not scared, he’s fucking petrified, because this creature, with his beautiful face and his beautiful eyes is terrifyingly engulfing, overwhelming, appealing.</p><p>“And if I tried to drown you?” Matt visibly flinches, and Mello laughs, as chilling as the ocean’s breeze. “Lighten up, Matt, love, I wouldn’t do that to you. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crystalline

A lighter.

That’s all it takes for this whole damned thing to go to shit.

He thought it’d be cancer that does him him. Cancer or some of the stupid shit he does that he thinks is a bad idea, but he does anyway. Yeah, something like that.

Not a terrifyingly beautiful face staring at him from the ocean, with one webbed hand on the edge of his boat, and a mouthful of pointed teeth. 

Deathly quiet. 

That face is neither innocent nor cautious.

Matt’s cigarette’s pinched between his teeth, and he’s fumbling for the gun Linda had forced him to bring.

Three drownings in a month wasn’t a coincidence.

But he waits. He waits, because maybe it’ll go away. Maybe, like a fucking hornet, if he doesn’t move, it’ll ignore him.

No such luck. 

Sopping wet blond hair, and skin decorated in scales that glisten in the moonlight, this creature, this _thing_ hoists itself up, nearly tipping the boat over, and reaches a hand towards him. 

Matt’s frozen.

Not quite a man, not quite an animal. 

The fuck is he supposed to do?

He doesn’t want to shoot something this pretty.

He also doesn’t want to drown.

Matt points his gun at that beautiful, beautiful face, and the being doesn’t budge. His glistening blue eyes stay locked onto Matt’s, hand resting on his knee, brushing at the rough expanse of the denim covering his skin. 

Does he not understand? 

Matt fires his gun into the air, and the siren is gone in a flash, darting back under the water without a second of hesitation. All that remains is the spot of water on his clothes, and his own heavy breathing.

It doesn’t hit him until he gets back to his house that he could have died. He _could have died_ if he didn’t listen to Linda. His hands are darting over the keypad on his phone, but he quickly snaps it shut, deciding against saying anything.

Who the hell could believe him?

He didn’t believe it himself.

He could have been hallucinating.

No.

No, he was painfully sober, it was impossible. 

He has another smoke on the roof, and tries to wrap his head around it, but all he sees when he closes his eyes is that beautiful figure, with scales more stunning than jewels, and eyes that could be more addicting than anything he’s had before.

Matt understands, that this is how humans die. That this is how legends were spun hundreds of years ago, and men feared the ocean. Because of creatures like _this_ that were so stunningly captivating that they could have any damn thing that they want. 

But like anybody else, he looks up at the night sky and tells himself that no, it won’t be like that with him.

~~

He’s an idiot, and he goes out again.

This time, out of curiosity.

He sits at the same time in the same place, until gentle thuds hit his boat again, and he thinks maybe, yeah, this’ll get him killed. This could be it, forget about the cigarettes, forget about his shit job, this is going to be what fucking does him in. 

But Matt doesn’t really give a shit about what he says, so when the siren peeks it’s head out from the water and grabs at the boat, he blows a puff of smoke into the air and sighs. “Try to drag me in there and I’ll shoot your fuckin’ face off.”

He figures that this thing probably can’t understand him. 

Instead, he laughs, and hoists himself up. The boat nearly tips, and Matt’s reaching for his gun, but the creature’s hand is over his, grasping him with gentle firmness and rolling into the boat. 

Matt can’t explain, but he’s curious, and hell, that’ll kill him, but this creature is unreal, so he reaches a hand out, and drags it down the other’s face. “Fucking hell.” 

_Why_ , he wants to ask.

_Why are you so, so stunning_. 

“Your name,” he says, his voice all wind chimes and deep heat that knocks the breath out of Matt’s lungs and ignites a fire in his chest. He’s so confused, so unprepared that this creature can understand him, never mind talk, that he doesn’t even think to respond until the siren clicks his tongue and scowls. “Hurry up.”

“Uh…Uh, Matt. Yeah. Matt,” he fumbles, and the siren is less than impressed, tilting his head of sopping wet blond hair to the side and staring him down. What he could possibly find so fascinating, Matt has no idea, but he makes no move to stop him.

“Mello.”

In an instant, Mello’s up, hoisting his human half up with such precision and ease that Matt thinks this must have happened before. He’s balancing himself with hands on either side of the redhead’s body, grasping at the belt loops of his ripped jeans.  
The contact is electric, intoxicating, and Matt leans into it, letting Mello touch him however he pleases. 

More than anything, he’s fascinated by Matt’s legs. 

“What are you after?” the redhead breathes out.

Mello doesn’t respond with words. He gets lips against his cheek, then his neck, and automatically, he pushes the blond away. 

He can’t. 

He can’t, because he knows once he falls, there’s no getting back up. And Matt _knows_ that he has a little problem, where he can’t just do something like this once. A want will turn to a need, and here he’ll be, wrapped around this creature’s finger.

Besides, if it isn’t Matt, it’ll be someone else, because sirens aren’t particular about their victims, right? 

Not that it helps him right now. 

“Relax,” Mello eventually murmurs, but it’s not that easy, and again, Matt jerks away, body trembling and lips quivering. He needs to smoke. He needs _something_ to ground himself. 

Mello gets the hint, and slinks down to the floor of the boat, half of his tail draped over the boat while he sits himself down. But temptation is a bitch, and he finds himself reaching for Mello’s hair, coarse from salt water, and drags his fingers across it. 

The siren sighs, and rests his hand against Matt’s open palm.

Frigid.

“Why are you here.”

“Why are you touching me,” Mello snaps back, but Matt doesn’t pull his hands away. No, instead, he’s cupping Mello’s face, lips tingling with that urge to lean down and take him, while the blond stares up at him with fucking liquid nitrogen eyes that are so so tempting and so so dangerous that Matt’s not sure exactly what to do. 

When he decides that fuck all, he’ll do what he wants, and actually gets to kissing Mello, it’s frighteningly cold and horrifically arousing. The creature beneath him moans, loud, overdramatic, and pushes his tongue between Matt’s lips until his head’s spinning and he can hardly think straight. 

He pulls away with a gasp and a shaky exhale, before Mello drags him back in by the roots of his hair, lips coaxing out moans that only encourage the blond and trap Matt in a dizzying catastrophe of want and prickling apprehension.

~~

Matt becomes obsessed. 

Brandy thick in his stomach, he takes his boat out on the ocean rowing, rowing, until his arms scream and he has to stop and rest. Moonlight shines off of black waves, and he pictures that beautiful, beautiful face, hiding in the depths beneath him.

He knows this is foolish, but he throws a handful of coins, cheap but shiny enough into the water, and clumsily sits himself down. Sea water lingers on the cuffs of his pants, inside his shoes, and he listens to the lapping of waves against his wooden boat. What else is down there? How long had that boy been hiding in these waters, living beneath their human society?

Matt’s an idiot, he knows he is, and each time there’s a shift in motion he jerks his head around, hoping, praying, for anything to appear.

“The fuck are you throwing this shit at me for?” he eventually hears. That low, perfect voice, smooth and delightful like wind chimes, sends relief through his body. He snaps his head around, and that boy’s head pokes up above the water, just beside his boat. “Keep it,” he says, hoisting himself back up to put the coins back in Matt’shands. “The hell will I need money for?”

“I thought you’d like it,” Matt sputters.

“Stupid,” Mello says softly, but his eyes are kind.

“I wanted to see you.”

Mello rolls his eyes. “There’s nothing for you to fuck here.” 

Matt’s cheeks burn, and he looks away. The blond’s voice drives him mad, but his words are awful, filthy. “That’s not what I was looking for.”

“Oh, so you think I’m something new and exciting?” Mello sneers, grabbing onto the sides of the boat with webbed hands and pulling himself into it, wet body landing hard next to Matt. 

“You’re beautiful.” Is all Matt says, eyeing his cheekbones, his jawline, the scales that dance up from his tail and scatter over his torso and onto his face. 

“Funny, I usually hear that from women,” Mello muses, but doesn’t give Matt much time to dwell on it before his next sentence. “Tell me, _Matt_ , that’s your name, isn’t it?” A quick nod. “Would you like to touch me?”

He swallows hard, only dully aware of Mello’s tail wrapping around him, how close the boy is, the hands on his thighs. Mello’s eyes, blue, sapphire, captivate him. Translucent like sea glass, they watch Matt, taking him in, holding him in place. 

“Are you scared?”

Matt shakes his head. “No,” he says, but the adrenaline in the lack of his throat says otherwise. He’s not scared, he’s fucking petrified, because this creature, with his beautiful face and his beautiful eyes is terrifyingly engulfing, overwhelming, appealing.

“And if I tried to drown you?” Matt visibly flinches, and Mello laughs, as chilling as the ocean’s breeze. “Lighten up, Matt, love, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

How could he know? But Mello seems so innocent, curled around him, and he cups the redhead’s face with his hands, long nails pressing against his flesh. Matt exhales shaky breaths, and the siren guides one of his hands to his neck, jugular decorated with those same tiny, reflective scales. “You want something from me, right?” Mello breathes out, and Matt puts an arm around his waist, securing him in place. 

He’s frigid beneath Matt’s grip, from the water, from the night breeze. 

“I don’t know,” Matt admits, running his thumb over Mello’s collarbone, his ribs, the gills lining his sides. “I just wanted to see you.”

“Just wanted to _see_ me?” Mello mimics, and touches Matt the same way he’s being touched. 

_Fuck_.

Matt thinks he’s going to die, from how these touches are making him burn.

“Sirens aren’t supposed to be real.”

“Why, because you’ve never set eyes on one?” Mello snaps back, and runs his tongue over a row of pointed teeth. “Why, Matt, do you think I’m beautiful? You don’t find the fish you catch _beautiful_. How am I different?”

“I don’t have words for it,” he admits, hands settling where Mello’s hips become the muscular bundle of scales that make up his tail. 

“You’re attracted to me.”

“Guess so,” Matt muses, not understanding Mello’s advances, and runs his hands up the milky skin of the siren’s abdomen. Pale, as he should be, living so far out of sunlight’s reach. “You’re so…different.”

“Yet you touch me like you would a woman,” Mello deadpans, slumping down to lay his torso over Matt’s thighs. Wet strands of hair fall out of his face, and he stares up at the moonlight with those bright, translucent, crystalline eyes. “You want to have me, but you cannot. I look like a man, but I am _not_ a man,” Mello says simply.

That’s when Matt feels the blood _really_ rush to his pelvis. He tries to shift under Mello, but the creature doesn’t move, comfortable in his spot on Matt's lap. It makes his eyes go to Mello’s lips, purple from the cold. Guilt licks at his stomach, churning, taking over his senses. That isn’t what he had intended, he doesn’t mean for Mello to do this to him. 

Yeah, that’s what he tells himself, anyway. 

“Relax, I’m just teasing you,” Mello hums, and pushes himself back up so that he can sit. “You’re drunk, you need to go home and rest.”

“I’m not drunk,” Matt mumbles, but he can feel the earth swinging, spinning from where he’s sitting, and Mello seems so, so beautiful, more than any man should be. 

“Go home, and come back tomorrow,” Mello demands, but Matt can’t take his hands off of him. He cradles Mello’s face, plays with his knuckles, rolling the scaled things between his fingers. Mello takes the man’s hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing his calloused palms. His tongue swipes at the flesh, and Matt sucks in a shaky breath.

“Yeah. Yes. Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Matt promises, more to himself than to Mello. 

He lets Mello slip back into the water, body disappearing under still, dark waves.

~

Matt, stupid, stupid Matt, runs down to Linda’s apartment, still damp with sea water, but thrilled, _ecstatic_. He doesn’t even look at the time before barging into her house, finding her in her nightgown, sitting at the kitchen table with a book.“Matt?” She springs to her feet, rushing over to him, fingers running over his damp clothes. “Holy shit, you’re _soaked_ , what happened?”

“It’s fine,” he gasps out, leaning against the doorframe, smiling like an idiot. “It’s fine, it’s great. _Fuck_ , Linda, you won’t believe what happened tonight.”

“Are you drunk? You reek of alcohol,” she says, sitting him down at the kitchen table and fetching him a glass of water. “Jesus, what’s the matter with you?”

“You have to come with me to the dock tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? I’ve got to meet with Near,” Linda says flatly. “I can’t stay up late like you.”

He doesn’t even bat an eye. “Next week then. A week from today, alright?” 

“What is it, Matt?”

“If I told you, you’d never believe me. It’s spectacular. _He_ is spectacular. Linda, you’ll love him.”

“He? Who are you talking about?” 

Glass of water forgotten on the table, Matt springs to his feet and is back at the doorway. “I’ll be here next week, but we have to wait until the sun goes down, I’ll come at midnight, alright? Make sure you’re ready, you’ll love him,” Matt keeps going, on and on, half talking to Linda, half to himself. 

“Wait, Matt—“ But it’s too late. The redhead is already out the door, running down the street to get back home.


	2. Nitric Acid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Careful,” Beyond whispers when Mello returns to the ocean floor, making a lap around the blond before settling at his side and brushing at the bruised flesh around his collarbone. Of course, B knows. Everything about him screams that he knows, from the flicker in his eyes to the chemical burns that scrape down his face and across his torso. From the way he dusts his fingers over the marks on Mello’s skin, to the way the edge of his tail is tattered from violent struggle. 
> 
> Ethereal beauty turned to a moving wreck, sunken and left to decay at the bottom of the sea.
> 
> Humans, Beyond tells him, do awful things.

It becomes habitual. Turns from midnight swims to entire evening affairs.

Sometimes, Mello will just follow beside Matt’s boat. Other times, he hoists himself up and sits curled around the redhead’s body, head resting on his lap or in the crook of his neck, kissing at every inch of skin he can catch. 

They’ll talk, occasionally. Matt seems to enjoy it, when Mello relaxes against him, talking about Beyond, or hunting, or the things he’s found at the ocean floor, things that men can’t even imagine. Mello is the ocean and so much more, sparkling sea glass and harsh tides that threaten to swallow the both of them up. 

Linda tells him he’s fucking nuts. 

“You’re always out in that fucking boat!” she snaps while sitting on his couch one day, her book left forgotten beside her. “Be more responsible, you’re going to make yourself sick like that!”

Matt shrugs, lighting himself another smoke. “Who cares.”

“The fuck’s so exciting? It’s the same shit ocean we’ve always lived next to.”

“I think it’s nice.”

“Yeah? Christ, Matt, get yourself someone to fuck, you can’t spend all day in your goddamn head.” 

That, though, is what she doesn’t understand, cannot understand until he goes out there with him. 

Soon, she’ll get it. A week ago, she cancelled, keeps pushing it off because she doesn’t get what it’s all about. Soon, she’ll understand.

Or soon, she’ll be terrified.

Mello.

All he can think about is _Mello_.

Sure, he goes to work just fine and keeps his house clean just fine, but outside of that, it’s all ocean, all Mello all day dreaming and hoping and smiling because of that stunning creature that doesn’t seem, even now, to be a reality.

One night, Matt brings his dinner with him—a sandwich and a can of soda, and Mello’s peering at it with pursed lips from the edge of the boat. 

“It’s just food,” Matt says with a laugh, but Mello doesn’t buy it. Not until Matt rips a part of it off and pushes it to Mello’s lips. 

It doesn’t taste good, but it doesn’t taste bad, either.

He prefers what he can find on his own time. 

The soda makes his nose crinkle up, because it’s too fizzy and too sweet, prickling at his tongue and making his teeth fuzzy. “It’s bad.”

“What’ll you eat, then?” Matt asks as he finishes off his sandwich. “It’s turkey.”

Mello just nods, because he doesn’t know what the hell that is, but he figures Matt doesn’t realize that, or doesn’t care to elaborate.

He doesn’t mention that he’s broken a man’s neck and plucked his eyes out for dinner out of pure spite, nor does he mention that humans, really, do not taste all that poorly. After all, where else would they go, after they’ve been drowned? It’s nothing more than a game of cat and mouse, sometimes, playing with their food until they’ve exhausted their interest.

Instead, he darts beneath black water and comes up with a fish, wresting for freedom from the fingers that pinch its tail and dangle it in the air. He doesn’t kill it in front of Matt, but the redhead’s eyes still widen, looking at the thing, struggling for its life with hopeless jerks and frantic darting back and forth. Mello throws it back into the water and it disappears, darting away from its attacker and into the safety of the coral beneath them. 

Matt, for a moment, catches a glimpse of the flicker in Mello’s eyes when he hunts, at the way his features light up, and he _enjoys_ the rush of capturing something, of holding it without any way to escape. His eyes had been locked onto the fish, at the way it gasped to be released, while his hands twitched to kill, to crush, to devour.  
He knows, perhaps, that he is no different.

He embraces it with open arms and purposeful ignorance. 

~~

“Careful,” Beyond whispers when Mello returns to the ocean floor, making a lap around the blond before settling at his side and brushing at the bruised flesh around his collarbone. Of course, B knows. Everything about him screams that he knows, from the flicker in his eyes to the chemical burns that scrape down his face and across his torso. From the way he dusts his fingers over the marks on Mello’s skin, to the way the edge of his tail is tattered from violent struggle. 

Ethereal beauty turned to a moving wreck, sunken and left to decay at the bottom of the sea.

Humans, Beyond tells him, do awful things. 

Matt’s different.

Matt has to be, the way he fumbles around so awkwardly whenever Mello speaks, to the way his face burns when the blond’s upon him, coaxing out gasps and moans wherever he can. This, even, had been a display of affection that Mello demanded. He’d brought Matt’s lips from his cheek to his neck, lower, until Matt’s gentle bites turned into harsh sucks and even harsher marks. 

Here, Mello is completely, utterly in control.

Gossamer and harsh, freezing beauty, Matt will do every little thing he asks. 

Beyond presses a hand to the start of his tail, pressure sending a frantic shudder down Mello’s spine. It’s not pleasurable, but it’s forceful in a way that only Beyond inflicts, something that’s harsh and telling, something that can explain worlds without a single word. 

Mello brings a hand over the chemical burns that decorate B’s biceps, dancing down his arms, up his torso, all over him, leaving most of his scales missing, and his skin a garish, furious red. He knew what B was like when he came back, screaming and thrashing and sobbing in such a terrifying, horrific way that they all thought he was done for. But the damage was all external.

It had been an intentional move. Something meant to send a message, to _experiment_. He’d bolted back to the bottom of the ocean, furious, screaming that he _hated him_ , he _hated that fucking asshole of a man that did this to him_.

He’d been alright, up until then. 

Now, they all know, he’s a little off. Mello can tell, by the way he towers over the blond, grabbing at him, holding him, pressing gentle, worrying kisses to his skin. 

He knows better than to stop him.

After all, Beyond is the only one that will listen to him about this. Beyond’s the only one that can _help him_.

“Men don’t give a shit about us.” 

“Matt likes me.”

Beyond laughs, a harsh blade that cuts through Mello’s chest and makes him sick. His teeth glisten, pointed rows that look like they’d tear his throat out.

Like Mello looks any different. 

“Until he finds a pretty little girl to go and fuck,” Beyond taunts, and now, Mello pushes him off when he goes to kiss his jawline. “What, love? You know we can’t go up there.” 

And perhaps, it’s because Beyond says that he can’t that he wants. 

“He’s not _like that_.”

And he knows, that there’s ways around it. That Beyond can help him, that Beyond can _make it happen_. 

“How would you know?”

And how would he? Beyond walks fingers down Mello’s back, until they dust across the dip in his back and then away, settling back on his hip bone. 

Mello, really, is something lovely.

It would be a shame for him to turn out like Beyond. 

But Beyond, Mello thinks, is still decent looking, with piercing eyes and a roughness to him that’s all aggression and pure malice. 

Perhaps, they could be infatuated with each other.

Perhaps, if he wasn’t so hellbent on getting the one thing the both of them know he cannot have, he could be content here. 

“I can be enough for him,” Mello reasons, but they both know that’s not true, not like this. 

“They only think about what they can fuck,” Beyond hisses, and Mello doesn’t _understand_.

“What?” he asks, kneading at Beyond’s damaged shoulder, until the other siren curls onto the ground next to him. He stares at B until he’s leaning over, whispering filthy things into Mello’s ear that turn his face bright red and make his stomach churn with an uneasy anticipation. “That’s _gross_.”

“They love it.” 

“No, it’s not—“

“He’ll let you, you know,” Beyond says with a crooked smirk. “Mine let me.”

Mello looks up, at the light trying to make its way through the waves, and wonders, maybe, if that’s really true. “They’re different.”

“Not that different.”

But Mello’s mind is made up, and he wants what he wants, despite what Beyond tells him. Not that B cares one way or the other. But when Mello ends up just like him, he’s not going to say a damned word. 

With a huff, the Mello darts up. “Hungry?” 

“Yeah,” Mello hums, which isn’t totally a lie. He should keep eating, since he won’t be hunting at night for a while. 

“He’s temporary, you know,” Beyond warns for the last time, and that’s all he’ll do, because there’s nothing more that Mello will listen to.

“He’s _mine_.”

~~

He shoots up to the surface an hour before Matt usually arrives, circling and circling, a knot in his stomach from Beyond’s words. What if, after all, he’s _right_?

And what if Matt just stops coming?

Mello swallows his dread over and over, until that ever familiar wooden boat comes puttering towards him. He’s out of the water and at the boat’s edge in the blink of an eye, drinking in the sight of Matt’s lopsided smile and the way he so lifelessly carries himself. 

“Hey,” he rasps out, and Mello’s chest is twisting, heart fluttering in frantic smacks against the inside of his ribcage. He tries not to smoke around Mello, because he hates how the blond wrinkles his nose and shies away in barely hidden disgust, so he sucks on mints instead, doing anything he can to keep himself busy. 

Mello doesn’t say a word to him. He’s dragging him forward by the front of his shirt, until he’s standing, stumbling, then yelling. He catches Matt from the back of his knees, holding him steady, and pulling.

Matt doesn’t understand, and he panics.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , Mello, you know I can’t swim. Don’t—“ Lips are over his, silencing him, with arms pulling him into the ocean water turned black by evening sky. His jeans weigh him down, but Mello holds him steady, arms locked around his waist and in his hair. 

Matt clings to damp skin that smells like a warm summer’s day, nails scraping against skin that lingers with salt, translucent sea glass scales decorating his body in moonlit beauty. 

He breaks away with breathless gasps, his hips shuddering and molten heat settling between his legs. 

Mello cannot give this to him, and there’s a glint in the blond’s eyes that tells him yes, he knows. He knows and he wish things were different, because he wants to, too.

If not for pleasure, then to see Matt like this, panting, completely at his mercy, so willing to do _anything_ for him. 

Matt groans, pressing a kiss to Mello’s neck with warm lips and and an even warmer tongue. 

He’s not sure if he likes it or not, but humans are _warm_ , heating his body up and encasing him in something he’s hardly familiar with. 

He’s seductive, he’s vain, but in his core, he has no idea what the hell he’s doing. He plops Matt back in the boat, tugging soaked jeans from his hips despite the way the redhead squirms and tells him it’s fine, don’t bother, he’ll change when he gets home. 

It doesn’t really seem to click that it’s not about changing at all.

When his hand slips past the waistband of Matt’s boxers and in between his legs, there’s a gasp followed by a shudder. Hips roll up against his hand, and he’s saying _something_ , but Mello can’t hear over the sound of his heartbeat thudding in his ears. 

Beyond was right. He can tell by the hazy look in Matt’s eyes that he _loves_ this. 

God, he doesn’t know if that’s awful or beautiful.

It’s hot, warmth spreading across Mello’s hand. He sort of gets how this works, because B’s talked about it. He pulls Matt’s length out, and rotates his wrist. A sharp gasp, and another thrust. 

“You don’t have to,” Matt groans, but his words are all jumbled together, slurred and fogged by lust and _goditfeelsogoodpleasedon’tstop_ that it only makes Mello laugh. He hoists himself up further, sliding in between Matt’s legs and pressing a kiss to his thigh.

What it’d be like, to have legs. 

What it’d be like, to feel pleasure like this. 

What it’d be like, to have _Matt_ do this to him.

He does what B told him he’d done years ago, running his tongue up the length of Matt’s cock before taking it into his mouth. He wants to gag, but he pushes down further, further, until his lips hit Matt’s hilt, and he pulls away, tongue running against him while he does.

Matt’s mouth is wide open, eyes half lidded and locked onto Mello’s face, his _mouth._ Stretched around him, hands on his thighs. _Fuck_. 

Mello pulls up only to go back down on him again, deep, fucking ridiculously hot. Matt groans, and thinks, for a moment, that this isn’t real. That this isn’t something that could possibly happen. 

For a moment, Mello loses himself, fingers dragging down Matt’s legs and marking them with lines of red. The human beneath him doesn’t scream. Instead, he gasps, lets something out akin to a groan, and tenses against Mello’s mouth.

He comes when Mello drags his nails back up, a bitter, unexpectedly foul taste on Mello’s tongue. Still, he swallows, because Matt keeps bucking against him, keeps grabbing at his hair and pushing him down. 

When he pulls himself up, Matt grasps his head with both hands, pulling him forward, against his chest and into a hungry kiss that’s all tongue and need. 

Mello’s never seen anything like this before.

It’s exhilarating. 

Mello’s mouth twists into a frightened scowl against Matt’s lips when a hand slides between his ribs and down his front, against the beginning of his tail and in between his hips. Where, if he were a man, Matt could do the same to him. There’s a look in Matt’s eyes that’s something akin to regret, because he can’t _return_ this, because Mello doesn’t really understand what it feels like, not really, to be so dizzyingly overwhelmed by physical want. 

Wants him needs him 

Loves him maybe

Who knows what this is, who cares, because all he knows is that Matt is his, will stay his, has to be his. 

When the energy leaves him, Matt settles himself on the floor of his boat, puling Mello against him. It’s a little too warm and a little too cramped, but he stays cradled against the expanse of Matt’s chest, face pressed to the crook of his neck. 

They don’t talk about what this means, where it will lead, because there’s no point in bringing up something that the two of them know, deep down, cannot happen. 

“Uhm…you’re really beautiful,” Matt whispers for what has to be the thousandth time and Mello just barely shifts against him, sighing against his neck. “Like…I just wish I could take you back,” he whispers, raspy and earthy and harsh. Mello doesn’t say a word, but he, silently, agrees. 


	3. E m p a t h y

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He wants, and he knows Matt wants, from the way he looks at the blond with drooped eyes and a slacked jaw, clinging to him and whispering into his flesh that he wishes, oh he wishes so, so badly that he could bring Mello back with him."

“Hell, Matt, just spill already.”

“It’s a surprise.”

“You’re terrible with surprises.”

“Trust me, it’s a real fuckin’ surprise,” he says, and he’s giddy all over again. Mello’s amazing, breathtaking, so many different colors and all cold, harsh, metallic beauty. 

When they get far enough out, to Matt’s normal spot, he pulls a silver ring out of his pocket.

“You’re not going to propose to me, are you?”

Matt scoffs. “Christ, _no_ ,” he laughs, and with a gentle toss, sends it into the ocean.

“ _Matt!”_

She grabs at his hand, as if that’ll bring it back, because she knows Matt doesn’t have that much money, and that was probably expensive as all hell. She’s so distracted that she misses the splash of waves, too unnatural to be from the wind, and the slight rocking of the boat. 

“Linda, look.” 

Matt expects Mello’s sparkling eyes, beautiful soaked hair tucked behind his ears and that vicious grin that twists his stomach in wonderful knots. 

Mello’s livid. 

His eyes darken at the sight of their hands laced together.Shaking mad, webbed hands dig into the side of the boat, and in a moment, he’s yanking the ring off of his finger. All of them, yanking the coin necklace from his throat and whipping it all into the boat with a decisive thud against the ground. 

“Mello, hey, hey, relax, hey, come on, don’t, _wait, hey_ —“

“ _I hate you_!” he screams, all fire and rage and closed ears. Tears like sea glass sparkle in Mello’s eyes, and with a violent hiss, he shoots back, tail banging against the side of Matt’s tiny wooden boat before disappearing under the ocean’s black waves. 

“ _Fuck me!”_ Matt gasps out, grasping onto the edges of the boat as if it’ll help. Thank God, it doesn’t flip, but Linda’s left shaking only a few feet from him, eyes wide and chest heaving. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Mello, come back, I didn’t—“ He’s reaching out of the boat, and Linda’s pulling him back, screaming and swearing and swinging at him to get him to sit the fuck down.

“Matt, get us to shore _now_.”

“Linda—“

“ _Now!_ ”

~~

Mello _hates him_. 

Mello _hates_ that Beyond is right, because he’s always right, he’s always known the absolute most about humans and how they tick. 

It’s fitting, then, that Beyond finds him, too livid to even cry, breaking apart pieces of coral in trembling hands. His chest’s tight, and God, if he had to breathe like a human, he wouldn’t be able to breathe at all.

It stings him, like a crack of lightning against a ship’s mast. Fire prickles in his blood, and he could _kill_ something.

He could kill Matt.

“Wasn’t he just a toy?” Beyond whispers, but they both know it’s more than that, because when Mello swims back down to the ocean floor night after night, he’s absolutely glowing, curling against Beyond and babbling about everything and nothing until the older siren tells him to just shut the fuck up. It’s obvious, because it’s all Mello thinks about.

It’s obvious, because he’s threatened to kill anyone that so much as gets _near_ this human that he adores so much. 

“He was,” Mello mumbles miserably.

“Was.”

“Not now, Beyond,” he whispers, trying to dismiss him, because he’s shaking with anger, shaking with pent up aggression that he hasn’t felt in so, so long. 

It’d be so easy, to tear his throat out and drown him.

It’d be so easy, to watch him beg and scream and cry and whimper as Mello squeezed every last bit of life out of him.

It’d be so easy, and yet one of the hardest things Mello’d ever done. 

“Fuck ‘im,” Beyond spits. “They’re all the same, told you that before.”

Mello doesn’t voice an opinion one way or the other. Maybe Beyond’s right, or maybe Beyond’s bitter.

“Least you still have your face in tact,” Beyond snickers, running fingers over his own marred flesh, then over the smooth scales on Mello’s throat.

His neck bobs when he swallows. He could leave, but he lets Beyond scoop him up and draw him close. “They’re all like this,” he tells the blond, and rests his chin on his shoulder.

“Beyond,” Mello chokes, whispers, rasps out while the pads of his webbed fingers dig into the other siren’s shoulder blades. “Beyond, I…I…”

There’s lips against the top of his head, surprisingly gentle, for B. “You think you loved him, right?” It’s tender, and it’s a simple thing, but it says so much more. Beyond, really, understands. 

Empathy.

And hell, if _Beyond_ of all people could be empathetic, then it’s bad. 

It’s _obvious_ how deep Mello had gotten himself.

This, more than anything else, shatters him. 

He doesn’t cry.

He doesn’t do much of anything. He lets Beyond hold him in complete silence, face pressed against nitric acid burns and a dull, thudding heart.

“Yeah,” he eventually rasps in response, and Beyond holds him that much tighter. 

~~

“He _hates_ me!” Matt wails over a bottle of beer, sprawled on Linda’s floor with a mix of cigarette butts and bottle caps. 

“That’s what you’re fuckin’ thinking about right now?!” she yells at him, slamming her beer down on the coffee table. “Matt, that thing _kills_ people!” 

“Linda, come on, you only saw him for a second!”

“That was _more_ than enough! Are you fucking stupid!”

Matt doesn’t get it, because Mello isn’t like that. Mello’s never done a thing to hurt him. Mello’s _different_.

Isn’t that what they all say. 

“I really like him,” he finds himself whispering, and he knows that isn’t going to fly, because Linda’s not an idiot, and she’s too fucking scared to deal with this shit. Three casualties in a month were, by no means, accidental drownings. 

She doesn’t understand why he isn’t dead yet.

He doesn’t understand why she can’t just leave him be.

“You should have shot him the first time he came up here,” she says, because this is _dangerous_ , they shouldn’t fuck with shit like this, because it’s just asking for trouble.

He whips a beer bottle past her head, exploding across the wall behind her. 

That sends her right over the edge. “Get the _fuck out of my house_!”

“You’re fucking impossible!”

“ _I’m_ impossible?! Did you _see_ his eyes? He’’ll kill you!”

“He wouldn’t! You don’t fucking get that and no one else fucking goddamn gets that he wouldn’t!”

“Matt,” she breathes out, voice dropping to a whisper. “Myths aren’t this consistent without a reason. Don’t you _think_ there’s a reason they’re beautiful?”

“I don’t care.”  
“Of course, you don’t care. Of course you don’t fucking care, because you always try to throw away your life doing stupid shit like this!”

“He’s _different_!”

“You’re fucking nuts!”

Matt slams his door on the way out, and Linda grabs a broom to sweep up the strands of shattered glass that dust across the kitchen floor.

Fine, if he wants to end up dead, then be her guest.

~~

When Mello’s hand grasps Matt’s throat, the redhead doesn’t resist. 

He could’ve done it in one go. 

Matt’s eyes are wide, but they’re unafraid.

Mello wouldn’t.

Mello won’t.

Mello can’t he won’t he won’t he won’t

When he lets go, blood is prickling from the impact of Mello’s nails against his skin, and he breathes in so sharply that he makes himself sputter out a line of coughs, frantic and deep in his chest. His heart pounds in his ears, and Mello’s screaming at him in some sort of tongue that he’s never heard before. 

He can’t hear a damned word of it. 

Really, he thinks, he could use a smoke. 

Mello clutches harder, and by now, he’s sure his face must be fucking purple. 

“ _Do something_!” Mello screams at him, all teeth and venomous eyes. 

Matt blinks. 

“Fucking _do_ something, asshole!” He’s shaking Matt now, hard, the stinging of his nails rippling down his spine. Mello seems to tire of it, and he whips him down so hard that his head clunks against the side of the boat and his vision flashes a muddy black.

When Matt comes to, maybe a second, maybe a minute later, Mello’s moving away from him, staring at him with that deer in headlights look, and he’s scrambling back up to try and bring him back.

Matt swallows, and his throat stings.

He can worry about that later.

“I’m sorry,” is all he can get out, and Mello’s backing further, further away.

“ _Fuck you_.”

“I should have asked you first,” Matt says desperately, holding his hand out towards the siren. Still, with every advance he makes, Mello moves back. His body sinks under the water, bringing him to his neck in black waves, and he snarls. “I’m sorry you didn’t like her, I thought—“

“What, you thought I would love to see you bring your pretty fucking _girl_ to see me? To look at me like a circus attraction?” he spits, and slams into the boat again. Matt loses his footing, collapsing onto the wooden floor of the boat, cursing. That, it seems, only encourages Mello. 

“Mello, I’m _sorry_.”

“You should have told me you had a wife.”

“ _Wife_? The fuck’re you talking about, Linda’s not my _wife_.”

“You’re with her when you aren’t with me.”

Matt swallows hard, and reaches towards Mello again. “I’m not, Mello. Mello, I don’t _like_ women.”

Mello hisses, and Matt senses a danger that he’s never seen the siren emit before. There’s that glint in his eyes, double rows of teeth sharp, baring at him from his open mouth. 

When Matt doesn’t budge, and Mello’s left to stare at him, to curse at him, to yell at him and scream until his chest’s heaving, he gives up, and breathes out a hollow stream of air. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Help me up.” 

Matt obliges, and Mello plops down next to him, still fuming, blood boiling. “I’m sorry you thought we were together.”

“She’s nice looking.”

“Yes, she’s very nice.”

Mello doesn’t respond, and sets his ices azure eyes on the moon overhead. 

Matt is just a man, and a foolish one at that. His stomach coils with guilt, and his heart aches to look at Mello’s face, how pissed off he seems. There aren’t words good enough to change Mello’s mind, to make him come around faster. Matt’s just a man, and he does what his instincts tell him to.

He grabs Mello by the shoulders and mashes their lips together in what he had intended to be a tender kiss. He doesn’t anticipate hands wildly latching to his hair, his clothes, the back of his neck. He doesn’t expect frantic swipes from Mello’s tongue, or the ever careful bite of teeth against his bottom lip. 

Matt pulls away, gasping for breath, and comes face to face with hungry eyes and flushed cheeks, Mello’s mouth open to let out small pants. 

Mello arches up for another kiss, sloppy with the movement of tongues and exchange of soft bites. 

In the midst of it, he’s hit in the pit of his stomach that this is what B was talking about. That this, forever, is not maintainable, because there’s other opportunities, other _people_. People that Matt can live with and talk with and make love with.

The ocean is not only cruel to men, Mello decides, and runs his hand across Matt’s jaw and down to his neck, that familiar anger evaporating and turning to sickening disgust. 

“I love you,” Matt says recklessly, irrationally, his hands on either side of Mello’s scaled face. “I love you, so much,” he keeps blabbing, and he doesn’t get why the blond just stares at him, his eyes wide and lips parted ever so slightly. 

He’s all ocean and all terrifying.

Matt leans into him, and Mello holds him, his legs tangled over the blond’s body. Mello digs his hands into the expanse of Matt’s shirt, and he whispers that yeah, yes, he loves him to, he wants him so, so bad, he’s so sorry for trying to hurt him. 

In a voice that’s all wind chimes and ocean breeze, Matt catches wind of a tone that sounds something like decay and withering bones.   
~~

Mello dreams of legs. Of skin like Matt’s. Maybe not with all the freckles, but fleshy legs and a peachy face, with cheeks that are smooth and scaleless, and teeth that are straight across and only a single row, just like Matt’s. 

He wants, and he knows Matt wants, from the way he looks at the blond with drooped eyes and a slacked jaw, clinging to him and whispering into his flesh that he wishes, oh he wishes so, so badly that he could bring Mello back with him. 

He dreams and begs, curled up against a patch of coral, that he can. 

This, he knows, is an anomaly.

This, really, is a fucking mess.

He’s filled with a frantic desperation, because Matt could _leave_. He could have _killed him_ , he’d been terribly close, his nails digging into the expanse of the human’s throat. 

This isn’t where he belongs. 

Mello digs his fingers into the beginning of his tail, hissing and gritting his teeth at the stinging pain. 

Above the water, the sun rises, pouring bright white across the water and over his vision. He digs again, again, until his head’s spinning in frustration.

Finally, he sobs.


	4. Precipitous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Please, Beyond. We both know you’re the only one that will do it.”
> 
> “That alone should tell you it’s a terrible idea.”

Matt spends every day after work in Near’s pool. 

He doesn’t know how to swim for shit. He doesn’t need to be able to go underwater. Just has to get enough to keep himself afloat. 

Besides, if something went wrong, Mello would help him. 

He missed him. 

“Thought you said you didn’t like your hair getting wet,” Near points out, legs dipped into the water. His sunglasses push curls of silver hair out of his face, and he’s squinting, because the white concrete is shooting the sun up into their eyes.

“My hair won’t get wet,” Matt shot back. 

“Whatever.”

He’s wrong, of course, and he ends up dipping down into the water experimentally, coming up coughing when he accidentally opens his eyes and inhales from the shock of chlorine against them.

It’s okay.

Every time he thinks of Mello, his chest swells. He smiles like an idiot, and he bites at the inside of his cheek. Anything he can do to help, anything he can do to make Mello happy.

He wishes they could be together. 

He tries not to think about it. 

But late at night, he finds himself drifting in and out of sleep, dreams of Mello, his perfect face and his perfect body pressed against him under the sheets. 

He wishes. 

It’s impossible.

He kicks his legs, and manages to stay afloat.

This, for now, is good enough.

~

With the taste of salt in the back of his throat, Mello dives down, lower, and even lower still, to a patch of rocks just near a sunken heap of metal.

He spots B, pale, beautiful, terrifying and everything in between. Webbed hands spread across Mello’s chest, pushing him against algae covered stones. He wants he wants he wants he _wants_. 

A mess.

Mello’s captivated, but _this_ is different. “I’m leaving,” he murmurs despite B’s mouth running down to his navel and back up to his ribs. Hands smooth down his sides, and Mello sighs, curling himself against the slippery rock beneath him, and _lets_ him.

Beyond is the only one that can do this for him. If this is the cost, then he has no right to protest. 

“For where? It’s hardly winter.” 

Of course, he’d fuck around like this.

When Mello says nothing, B stares. Stares until pointed nails and webbed fingers drag across the marks along his neck. “This isn’t just for company, then.”

“I have to,” is all he slurs, and Beyond tenses against him. 

“You came to me for help.”

A shaky nod.

“You’re terrified.”

“I _want_ him.”

“There’s no changing your mind, is there?” 

Mello shakes his head, and B sighs. Overdramatic, as always. He should know that he’s being ridiculous, but comparatively, he’s still a child.

And B’s nuts, so who the fuck’s gonna take advice from him? “ _You_ are supposed to seduce _him,_ ” he murmurs, and runs a hand across Mello’s cheek. But here, they’re one and the same.

Mello doesn’t give two shits , because he _wants_ Matt, and Matt is nothing like the man B had known. 

But how would he know?

Matt is _not_ cold, Matt is _not_ distant, Matt is not is not is not is not is not

_Not_ like that.

“ _Please_.”

Mello is stubborn and B is just as much so. 

“Hm? ‘ _Please’_ what?” B ask with a crooked smile and his hand moving across Mello’s collarbone. He presses kisses over the marks that Matt’s left, scraping with pointed teeth and tonguing at his flesh with messy swipes. “You’re so beautiful like this, you know.”

“I want to go up there,” Mello repeats, eyes half lidded, lips parted from the touches. “I could be…” the words die on his lips.

More.  
Better.

“You have been, already.”

“ _Legs_. I want _legs_ , B.”

“Oh, I see.”

“ _Please, Beyond._ We both know you’re the only one that will do it.”

“That _alone_ should tell you it’s a terrible idea.”

“Come _on_.”

B pretends to think, but it doesn’t really make a difference to him either way. He leans in, and Mello lets them brush their lips against one another, sharing a kiss that’s nothing more than business and magic and something somewhere in between. 

B’s all witchcraft and neuroticism. Perfect and terrifying, exactly what Mello needs. 

Maybe.

He pulls away, and In an instant, it’s fire. Fire in his throat, in his lungs, so sudden, so forceful that his head spins, threatening to flash black over his vision. 

He can’t _breathe_.

And fuck, yeah, B just gave him what he wanted, but this isn’t _right_. 

He’s going to die. 

His hands are reaching out, grasping, begging, clawing at B’s flesh, at the scales decorating his arms, at his twisted fucking _face,_ because _this_ wasn’t part of the _deal_. 

“You should have asked to wait until you got on shore. How would I know?” B says with that shit eating grin, and yeah, Mello wants to fight, but he also wants to _live._ He can still move, he knows that much, so he shoots himself _up_ while his tail still works, tearing through water, against gravity, against _everything._

He tries to focus, tries to push himself up, up, _up,_ but pushes turn to flailing to _kicking._

The sensation of legs makes him want to sob.

He’s not even sure if he’s doing it right. There’s muscle, but he’s never had these things before, and he flails wildly in hopes that he’ll make it. 

He hits the surface with white hot, searing pain, gasping in so sharply that his mind doesn’t even register breathing. All it catches is desperate wheezes, _dying_ , sputtering, a wounded animal, sick, sick, sick, _sick_.

The waves drag him under, and his legs don’t fucking _work_.

~~

When Mello doesn’t show up, Matt frets. He smokes and smokes and smokes over the still waters, occasionally flicking a coin or two to the ocean, until a head comes bubbling to the surface. No, not a head. A body.

Feet.

Something fucking _slams_ into the bottom of his boat, and he’s gasping, clinging to the sides, peering over, because this is about the time that Mello shows up, and _where the fuck is he_.

There’s another thud, another, another, a glimpse of a foot, and then hands are pushing at the sides, trying to get _up_.

For a second, he really thinks he’s on something. He doesn’t move, is afraid to, really. Finally, a head snaps out of the water, and _Mello_ , Mello’s coughing, sputtering, dropping under the water and pulling himself up over and over. 

He sounds like he’s drowning.

Drowning?

The realization snaps Matt into action, groping for any part of the siren he could grab. Finally, he catches an arm, and he _pulls._ Pulls up, despite Mello’s strangled screaming, his coughing, fucking _choking_.

He’s dying. 

His torso comes up first, eyes wide and mouth gaping in between coughs to try and say _something_.

This doesn’t make sense.

As soon as he grasps him by the torso and pulls him _up_ , he catches full sight of _legs_ , peachy and covered in those same scales that dusted the rest of Mello’s body.

“What the _fuck_.”

Mello doesn’t respond. Hell, he probably didn’t even know Matt’d said anything. As soon as he was on the boat, he was leaning back over, throwing up mouthful after mouthful of water and stomach acid.

This wasn’t right.

What _happened_.

Why did Mello fucking—no, _how_ did Mello do this?

Not quite human and not quite siren, Mello, still retching over the side of the boat, can’t even get his legs to sit right. There’s muscle, so Matt figures they’re usable, but they shift awkwardly every time Mello tires to move, clunking against the bottom of the boat and sliding around in the wrong directions. He still has the scales, and the _nails_.

Matt doesn’t dare touch him right now. 

The webbed fingers are gone, but the gills on his sides are knotted into thick, milky white scars that stand out garish against his skin.

It stops. Finally, it just fucking stops, and Mello’s left sitting there, sucking in shaky breaths, eyes wide, staring over the edge of the boat. He looks like he’s about to slip into full blown panic.

“I…” he starts, and Matt stops him right there, because his body’s trembling, his legs are twitching, and his eyes are transfixed on his hands. On the _scales_. “Oh my God,” he gasps, and the gasp turns into a sob. “Oh my _God_ ,” he whispers again and again, hands knotting with each other, darting to his face, his neck, _everywhere._ Anywhere there could be scales, he grabs, and his eyes light up in sheer _terror_.

“Hey,” Matt tries to start.

Mello starts bawling before he can get another word out. And Matt can’t blame him, because he’s nearly just died, and even though the redhead doesn’t have a clue as to what's going on, he hates to see the siren—human?—so upset. He leans in to rub circles over Mello’s back, and the blond leans into him, clinging, choking out breathy sobs that make his chest twist.

“It’s okay,” he tries to say, but nothing about this, really, is okay. “We should get you back to my house,” Matt whispers, and shifts to hold Mello against his chest. 

~

Mello’s beautiful, Mello’s pretty, Mello has beautiful skin and beautiful scales and beautiful eyes. 

Mello hasn’t spoken a word since Matt brought him to the house. 

He smokes on the roof, and waits, because he doesn’t really understand exactly what’s going on, and he’s not about to push his new roommate—was that what he could even call Mello?—to speak if he doesn’t want to.

All he knows right now is that he _can_ , and that’s fine enough.

He downs three smokes, snubbed out and tossed into the gutter, and he goes back into the house. Mello sits in the same spot in the center of the bed, and Matt worries. He knows he shouldn’t say anything, but maybe there’s something, anything he can do to help.

When he eases himself onto the mattress, Mello doesn’t even look at him. Wide, blue eyes stay transfixed on the ugly comforter that his aunt had gotten him for Christmas a few years ago, most of his face hidden in his knees and his arms locked around himself.

“Are you lonely?” 

Mello shakes his head. 

“I’m sorry,” Matt apologizes, even though he doesn’t know what’s wrong or if it’s even his fault. “Are you hungry?”

Shakes his head again.

“What’s wrong?” 

“This isn’t what I wanted.”

“Do you want to go back?”

“I can’t.”

“Oh.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Is it me?” 

Mello’s head snaps up, and he’s horrified, eyes wide and panicked. He doesn’t know how to tell Matt that no, no, it could never be him. Matt’s saved him, loved him, so, so much more. He throws himself towards the redhead, pulling him close, grateful, suddenly, for the warmth of Matt’s form, and tangles their limbs together, tongue pushing past the other boy’s teeth. 

At first, Matt moans, hands locking around Mello’s torso and pulling him in. But he breaks away, pressing their foreheads together, because that’s not a way to get out of this. He doesn’t push, because he knows Mello won’t answer, but he at least presses a kiss to his cheek, then his nose, and finally his lips again. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, voice raspy and thick with years of smoking.

Mello’s skin crawls, a harsh shiver running down his spine and right to his groin. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, and Matt shakes his head, because there’s nothing to apologize for. 

“Hey, it’s fine.”

“Matt, I’m just…fucking _sorry_.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've been working on for a couple of months, and am finally getting around to actually posting on here. Hope you guys enjoy it, feel free to say hi on my tumblr @ hoku-soemu.tumblr.com :)


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